I can’t believe it. Christopher Baldwin, the baddest boy in baseball wants me. Amelia Bishop, I was maybe a solid seven before an accident changed my life, leaving me fat, broken, and avoiding mirrors around me. If he hadn’t said it with a stare hot enough to melt brain cells, I would never have believed him when he said my curves are what he wants.

Cocky, arrogant, tattooed, with a diamond glinting in his ear, he is no boy. He is all man and a lethally gorgeous one at that. With dimples flashing as he invites me to sin in a slow Southern drawl I’m trying to remember I don’t swoon, sin, or—wait, what? I forgot not to stare directly at his dimples, those bright blue eyes aren’t safe either. Sorry, as I was saying.

As appealing as the idea of being bad with Chris is, there is no doubt in my mind I would fail miserably at it, even under his expert tutelage. Chris is used to strippers, women who have all the right moves. Me, I have no moves, at all. Chris is major league, I would get laughed out of little league.

I’m also his lawyer, at least until my brother, Ethan, comes back from vacation. Getting involved with clients is a huge no-no, no matter what primetime television might show. As gorgeous as he is he isn’t worth the possibility of hurting my career or losing the hard-earned respect of my boss and brother.

Only I can’t deny he makes being bad sound so good. Once Ethan is back I’m no longer Chris’s lawyer and it’s open season on all my good intentions. Being with him is still dangerous, his fame attracts all sorts of trouble. Who knows what complications could tear us apart?

***While a standalone, Holly and Ethan from His Under Contract make an appearance. You need not have read His Under Contract to enjoy His Sweetest Sin. ***

***Warning***

I don’t like to watch sports, although I do enjoy watching beautiful men sweat. I’ve never read a sports romance before. Chris Baldwin is a man falling in love with a sassy, damaged, curvy woman and he also happens to play baseball. When I started writing, I did do my research. I watched the winning series that inspired the story. I watched a bunch of movies and spent hours on Wikipedia. Then I scrapped the paragraphs waxing lyrical about the love the game and stuck with what I know. My billionaires don’t lay out the inner workings of their deals. I figured less is more. So, please be aware the focus is not the love of the game, it’s on the love story.

The waitress brings us our plates with a smile, asking if we need anything else, and we both decline. I’m not in the mood to eat though, still uneasy from the warning in Chris’s eyes. I hate him for doing this to me, turning me inside out, causing my emotions to run riot with a look or a few words. It feels like he’s playing with me. “I’m really not hungry. I want to go to work. I’m tired of being used as something for you to amuse yourself with.”

His bark of laughter is loud in the large, empty room. “Me use you? If anyone is using anyone, it’s you using me. Don’t worry, I’ll let you use me.”

I’m blinking fast. “Me, use you?”

“Yes, sugar, you’re using me. Usually, it wouldn’t matter to me why a woman wanted to fuck me as long as she did. I guess today is a day for revelations for the both of us. You didn’t know your pussy gets wet at the idea of being owned, and I didn’t know my cock goes limp at the idea of being used by you.”

I am not hurt by his annoyance, but I do know he’s nuts. “You are seriously not in your right mind. I’m not using you. You’re the one talking dirty, who keeps coming after me. I told you the first time I met you that us hooking up doesn’t make sense and it’s not what I want. How the hell is this on me?”

He sighs, and I fight the urge to kick him for it. “You eat me up with your eyes; I can smell your pussy wet for me. Your tits swell and sway, and you thrust them out the minute you catch me looking. Fine, I get it, you don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you are doing it. I’m really supposed to just walk away from you? Sugar, since you are so completely clueless, I’ll tell you right now the way you want me—so bad you ache, so bad you can’t think straight, so bad you’re willing to take a chance you never thought you’d take—that kind of want and need doesn’t happen very often, and you aren’t the only one feeling it.

“What pisses me off is you’re willing to take all I want to give you without giving it back. You’re trying to figure out how to get the cheese out of the trap without setting it off. I’m the bad boy who fucks at will, used to any chick riding my cock and giving orgasms until a woman can’t move from it. So you figure if he’s giving it out to anyone, why not you? That, that’s what pisses me off.

His jaw is tight, his eyes are the color of the arctic in winter, freezing me to the empty, hollow of my chest. “You aren’t willing to be bad, to get dirty. You want to stay the good girl, sweet, kind, never causes a fuss. Shit, woodland creatures probably clean your place while you sit on your perfectly plump ass sipping on your coffee, while you read the day away. Books where there’s nothing more than a proper, close-mouthed kiss before it fades to black, where the men are noble, dickless prisses who ask for kisses instead of taking them. I’m going to be the villain in the story who sneaks in and takes you. You’ll give in without ever giving anything up, not your good girl image, not yourself, just your body.”

I hate him. I fucking hate him. I blink, and tears fall. I hate him even more for sighing at the sight of them. Pushing away from the table, my legs are trembling so badly I feel like I’m fighting to stay standing during an earthquake. I want to make my escape from him, from all of this, but not until it’s clear this is all his damn fault. “So it’s my fault for buying into the image you sold of yourself? I’m to blame because I’m willing to take what you keep telling me you’re willing to give? I told you I’m not on your level, the very first day. You’re major league, and I wouldn’t even make it into the little league. I’ve fucked three men, okay? Three, and each of them miserable experiences that left me questioning if it was over, if it was safe to just crawl away and hide. I don’t know what you want from me to know if I can even give it to you or not. You say a few weeks, then you joke about kids. You fuck with my head until I don’t know—”

I was so wrapped up in my rant I never saw him move, his hands go down to my hips before bringing me up against him. Oh god, he’s hard, so very hard and pressing into my stomach. Immediately, my knees go weak as I sag against him. His mouth grazes against my ear. “Shh…sugar, take a deep breath. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you even though damn it, Amelia, you started it. Walking in the door spitting fire, cranky as all hell, looking for a fight. Congratulations, you got your wish. I’m never going to be able to deny you what you want—I knew it the minute I laid my eyes on you.

“Amelia,” This time my name is throbbing with all his frustration. “I need you to be honest with me, and the real hard part here, with yourself. I get that it’s hard for you, for reasons only you know. It doesn’t matter, you need to figure out how. The crappy history with men, that I guessed at, but I never would have thought it was so bad. You make more sense than ever now.

“I’ll slow down, let you catch up. Normally, I’m more patient. You have a way of setting me off faster than anyone I’ve ever met. Take a breath, there you go, another one.” A large warm hand cups my cheek, his thumb wiping tears away. I find the courage to meet his eyes, and the awe in them stuns me. There is no teasing, no anger, nothing but pure awe. “Even crying you’re beautiful.”

Due to commitment issues I have lived in many different cities and my favorite is Chicago but I have managed to settle into Austin and perhaps my commitment issues are behind me.

I have enjoyed reading from a very young age and it wasn’t long before the children books bored me and I read the books my mother enjoyed Stephen King and Dean Koontz and I didn’t sleep without the light on until I was about ten.

I came across my first Harlequin by accident and it was love at first read, no one died and happy endings? It was a whole new world and I loved it.

I wrote my first story at eight and everyone died, of course. Since then I would like to think I’ve gotten better and now I’m writing the happily ever afters I first fell in love with, with some hot sex thrown in along the way.